your scent passes with the wind
by lovesickjily
Summary: AU where James leaves one night to keep Lily safe and is assumed dead but returns to her when the war is over to find she is 'engaged' to someone else.


originally posted for jily challenge october 2018

* * *

It didn't feel real.

Life, that was.

Not since the prophecy ten years ago, and not since news had come about that marked her as someone doomed to walk this world alone.

Because with war, the only realistic take on it was that nearly everyone was to die, no matter how they viewed the world and how it should be regarded, no matter how highly they regarded the lives of others. Frankly, the world did not at all care for the amount of heartbeats that were to beat in a person's chest, and while some get to live up to say that they'd had three billion heartbeats in their lifetime, others are only able to say that they'd had three billion heart _breaks_ in their lifetime.

Lily had lost count of her heartbeats much too long ago, had started counting her heartbreaks— platonic, romantic, _whichever_ — instead, for she wasn't sure if she truly _was_ alive, the only confirmation of such appearing when she found herself waking up with streaks on her pillow, which was so lacking of the scent that she so desired, the scent that she wasn't even sure _what_ exactly she was so in need of.

She _did,_ however, know _whose_ scent she needed, the scent of someone that had long disappeared too soon after _he'd_ disappeared.

James Potter was dead, _had_ been dead for the most of ten years.

He had left without so much as telling her when he'd come back, _if_ he would ever come back, hadn't even been able to put a ring on her finger despite promises that it was to happen soon, had only left her with one last lingering kiss, one that was bittersweet enough to tear her insides apart, to twist her guts about to the point of not making out what they had originally been, to shatter her like glass.

He'd built her up to feel indestructible to the point that she'd ascended to the level of being bulletproof, but at the end of the day— _days—_ glass was merely what she was, fragile and broken and perhaps all over the place without him to keep herself balanced and to balance him back.

And each day widened the gap between reality and her imagination, another measly scratch on her calendar to mark another day without his presence, without his touch, without _him._

It was all because of a prophecy that they'd yet to fulfill, would _never_ fulfill now.

Wasn't knowing prophecies before they came to be true supposed to save? No, that wasn't right at all, because the Longbottoms had been taken, a reminder that she could have easily been the one in their place, but perhaps, _perhaps,_ had it been her instead, she would have been more at ease, with her eyes fluttered shut for all of eternity. They'd learned of the prophecy ahead of time, and perhaps this mere fact _had_ saved her life, but it just couldn't bring her to ease. If it had been her, she would have left a child, a sweet, precious, _innocent_ child, alone in the world, and she couldn't imagine anyone put in the same position as her. But for now, she would miss him, would miss the Longbottoms and all the other people that this war had cost them.

Sleep couldn't replicate that feeling of death, not precisely, but at least she was able to revisit him and the memories they'd shared together, even if just temporarily.

Even if what felt like a measly five minutes in her head was insignificantly small compared to the years, _decades,_ that they were supposed to spend together.

Time would hopefully, but most likely not, help to ease her pain.

And time, she supposed, did _somewhat_ of a decent job at numbing that pain.

It didn't help that with every step that she'd ventured out into the world, she'd look about for any traces of messy black hair, but she found that she couldn't find anyone with hair that even matched the torrentiousness that was his own. She couldn't find _him._

She had launched herself into a quiet Halloween evening in Godric's Hollow, perhaps the first time in ten years where she'd truly felt at ease, because every day that passed filled the hole in her heart just a bit more than the day before. The mere thought made her fingers run over the ring on her left hand, tracing over the small stone encrusted on the band, her heart panging out with love at the ring's connections to someone so dear to her.

The cool air nipped at her skin when the door had fallen open for about the fourteenth time that night, and she was ready to brace herself for another round of adorable little zombies and ghouls happily anticipating another sweet addition to their bags chock-full of cavities and sugar.

It was a bittersweet compensation for what could have been, that all of those years ago, back to when she'd heard those sickening words that were to foresee her future, she could have had a child— just as sweet and full of joy as these faux ghouls— who could have joined their group today. Perhaps if they'd lived out the prophecy themselves, she'd have a lovely little boy walking on this world today, with eyes as bright as hers had used to be and horribly unkempt black hair. But she didn't, though. Not now, not then, not _ever._

She was horribly lonely and isolated from all the rest of the world.

"Trick or treat," the voice sang, a phrase that _almost_ sickened her from how frequently she had heard it on just this day alone, and she smiled slightly at the person, though her eyes had never once looked up from the pail of candy in her hands, her fingers reaching for whatever candy was the most desirable because no child deserved disgusting candy, nor did they deserve any terrible happening on a day as precious as this very October 31st, that the very worst that could and should ever occur to these children is a handful at most of horrendous candy.

Her ring had reflected the light hanging above her, gleaming as a reminder of what the wars of the past had cost her, and she nearly beat herself up, for after years for fighting for her cause, after years of _training,_ she'd nearly forgotten that she wasn't completely safe, not just yet, and that the voice attached to this candy seeker was one that she hadn't heard in years, one that she had assumed she would never hear again.

She'd seen so much, had watched dark red disrupt the pattern of tranquility found upon the walls, had seen the last of the dimming lights in the eyes of others completely die as they took their last breath and felt their last heartbeat, had viewed sickening streaks of green that made her feel shame for the colours of her eyes as they made contacts with bodies. And as much as she'd rather give up in her own battles against death, she knew that James wouldn't have wanted her to let go when he'd risked it all for her.

She shouldn't have let her guard down. This person was most definitely not a child, and it most definitely was _not_ a voice she should be hearing. It had only meant one thing.

In one quick motion, the bucket of candy had fallen to the floor and her wand quickly replaced it, pointing itself directly at the forehead of the man who had said the seemingly innocent words, her eyes sharp because she herself hadn't been sharp enough to notice the errors in her actions in this peace-disrupted night. Her eyes bore into the eyes of hazel, warm enough to melt butter atop a stack of pancakes, which were, unfortunately, belonging to that of someone on the other side of the war. No, _not_ him.

He looked a bit surprised at her actions, but it didn't at all make the smile on his lips disappear, nor did he put any effort into lowering the wand from his face. "Reckon you went for the 'trick' aspect, yeah? Only I think that my face as it is is enough of a treat for you, but seemingly 10 years has changed your tastes."

She wanted him to stop talking, because this imposter was going to make ten years be thrown aside, that the mere sounds falling from his lips was going to pull the plunge that she'd put over the hole in her heart right out, and it would come at the cost of her life. _"Silencio."_

He cocked an eyebrow at her— stop, stop, _stop_ reminding her of the boy she fell in love with in her teenage years— and threw his arms up in defeat, but not before patting his pocket to signify the fact that he had his wand stowed away there. Her grip on her wand didn't waver at all, and, after a quick _Immobilus,_ she reached for his tie strung around his neck, pulling him into the house so as to not cause a scene in front of the neighbours, who _might_ have been watching from the comforts of their homes.

She placed him down at the dinner table, shutting off the porch light, and once she had secured his arms behind his back and his feet glued to the floor, having taken his wand from him, she undid the spells she'd used on him. The chair scraped against the ground, eliciting an ugly noise that filled the quiet air as she sat down in front of him. Her tea had brewed by then, and she stirred her cup slowly, watching as the sugar dissolved in the golden liquid. He cleared his throat, saying, "You know, it's quite rude to not offer a guest some tea if you made some yourself."

She hummed non-concomitantly. "Oh? And tying a Death Eater up isn't? Only I don't trust when one of your lot has clearly impersonated a previous member of the Order."

"Is that why you've taken to sitting me at your dinner table?"

"If that's your idea of good company, yes." She took a small sip of her drink, the hotness hitting the back of her throat. "I'm sure it's been far too long since you've had anything but the usual dose of Polyjuice."

"'Course. I love the taste of lacewing and leeches. Bloody delicious, it is."

"You're not denying it."

"I'm not," he agreed, nodding.

"Then you _are_ a Death Eater? Do tell, what exactly is it that you're here for?"

"Nah."

"No? No to _what,_ exactly?"

He ignored her response, instead choosing to say, "Does your game plan include tying me up so this supposed Polyjuice wears out?"

"Have you any objections?"

"'Course not. If you're going to stare, I'll do it too."

"Your words insinuate that you _are_ under the influence of a Polyjuice potion."

"Obviously. Give me a day or two. You'll see a change, trust me. I only get hotter as the days go on."

She merely stared at him now, because his words took her back to a faraway place, a place she could only distinctly remember as the fleetiness of time brought her farther and farther away by the passing seconds, hours, days, _years,_ back to a place with the rustling of parchment, the scratching of ink to paper, the sweet smells of potions overtaking the nose, the soft, familiar scent of fresh morning grass, all with undertones of memories that will always led to waves of nostalgia. She was taken back to late nights in the Common Room, her legs tangling with that of his own as they scoured over the coursework for an upcoming exam, or when their legs were tangled up as they put work into a completely different task at hand. Her ears rang as she recalled the many times he'd ironically joked about his looks and supposed egoism, but that same voice of his had also sweetly told her how highly he thought of her, how much he _loved_ her.

And with his gaze upon her, so akin to the way that he'd always looked at her, with eyes that seemed to take every bit of her in, eyes that existed to memorise even the features of hers that she'd rather one forget, eyes that looked at her as if she had created life with delicate movements. Nobody looked at her like that. Nobody but one person.

Her resolve broke, and she suddenly felt the urge to cry out for him. "'James—"

His eyebrows drew together in surprise. "You knew it was me?"

Of _course_ she knew it was him.

How could she _not_ recognise the man she'd fallen in love with so long ago?

She'd spent far too much of her happiest years memorising the features of his face, from the angle of his jaw, to the dimple that appeared on the right side of his lip when he smiled, to the glint that this eyes always held, to the hair that seemed to have been born in the midst of a hurricane, because they were the quintessential parts of him that no one— _nothing—_ could ever replicate. No Death Eater, no Order member, _no one_ but him.

No one could ever mimic his behaviours perfectly. She'd be able to notice one tiny slip up on their part, because everything that he had done in these last twenty minutes was so _James Potter,_ with his smirks and ability to make such light of a situation that was already heavy with implications that troubles would arise. It didn't matter that ten years had separated them, didn't matter that she hadn't seen him in so long, because this was _James, her_ James.

 _Her_ James Potter, who drove her crazy with his infuriatingly beautiful _everythings,_ who had somehow managed to make her fall in love with just about every single feature of his that he could offer her, could present to her. She was _more_ than willing to have his child, _their_ child, which went on to show _just_ how deeply she felt for her, would _always_ feel for him. She'd have to be crazy herself to not know it was truly him.

"From the start," she answered, nodding smally, "I— You know that Polyjuice doesn't work if the one person is dead. James, I thought you died. _Everyone_ thought you died."

"Evidently that's not true. I should have known you'd have realised. Always have been Sluggy's favourite. Always have been _my_ favourite," he said with a smile, and she looked at him in sheer disbelief.

"How could you act so casually? You've left me alone for ten years. You told me that we were going to spend the rest of our lives together. You didn't even— Oh Merlin," she said in a near whisper, feeling her face growing pale, and she hoped that she wasn't the only one who had suffered without the other in their ten years apart.

She'd gone through ten long winters, had watched the leaves turn green, then orange and red, and then eventually fall to the ground dead ten times, had sat through the coldness of the later months without his presence warming her right up. To watch the cycle of the leaves once was enough to bring pain to her heart, but the thought that she had spent _ten years_ watching them die, watching the flowers bloom only to be eaten up by the dirt by the end of the year, was more than enough to rupture a hole through her chest.

She'd kept it all in, but each year, each winter, as she watched the snow fall onto sheets of masses that had already accumulated on the ground, as she caught flakes on her hand, staring as they melted into a small mess of nothingness, she so desperately wished that she could be a snowflake, to fall blissfully onto the ground. She was reminded each winter, each snowfall, each second in general of him, of how they'd spent the coldness together, cuddled together near the fireplace, sharing warm kisses, James telling her how beautiful he thought she was, but it seemed to get colder each day without him.

He'd told her that she embodied the sun, was literal sunshine, but all she remembered feeling for ten years was just how impossibly _cold_ it was without him.

And when the frost had finally melted after the long, cruel winters, it didn't at all chip away at the cold etched on her heart. Life hadn't been the same without him, and now, at the current sight of him, though she'd seen him for nearly twenty minutes now, it hit her _just_ how much she missed him— how long she _longed_ for him— like a blow to the face, to the _heart,_ and she felt every dam within her breaking loose.

She found it hard to breathe now, and everything that they'd ever been through swept over her in a sea of memories, the taste of Butterbeer on her lips suddenly coming to mind as she remembered their very first kiss, with the coldness of October creeping in on that first Hogsmeade day they'd spent together, and the compactness of his four-poster that they'd sat in together when she'd first told him that she loved him, and now, she could clearly feel just how heavy her heart hung, sinking just as deeply as it had when he'd walked out on her those ten years ago.

But now, in comparison to all the other times that she'd wished that he was beside her, he _was_ there, and she felt herself being engulfed in a tight hug, the magic that had kept a hold on him wavering as her emotions overtook her. It had been so long since she'd felt his presence, had long thought that she was no longer going to see his face, hear his laugh, keep his smiles to mind, feel his _touch._ She had long thought that the universe had taken him from her, had taken _him._

She'd spent so long hating him— no, she could _never_ hate him. She'd spent so long hating the fact that she'd fallen so deeply in _love_ with him, hating the fact that he had left, presumably for good, hating the fact that he'd managed to worm his way under her skin only for those traces to be the only part of him left once he'd departed himself.

"I'm sorry, love," he said softly, "I didn't mean to keep you waiting that long."

"For ten years? I— We could have done so much together in those ten years. We could have gotten married. We could have had a _baby,_ a little boy to call our own."

"We could have _died_ in those ten years, Lily."

She shook her head at him. "James, don't you realise? In those ten years we've spent apart, I'd spent near every waking thought thinking that you'd died. I'd always thought that we'd…"

"I did, too," he told her quietly. He pulled away from her, much too quickly, much too _soon,_ only to take her hand in his, and she'd thought that he was going to twine their fingers together, but then he raised her hand up, inspecting her fingers gently, as if he was checking for any signs of harm done to her person. "Who is it, Lil?"

He eyes snapped up to his, her heart rolling over at their simple eye contact, because to see his eyes— wonderfully created with the perfect bit of sun and shine— reminded her of just how much she'd fallen for him so many years ago. "What do you mean?"

His eyes had taken on some form of intensity now, his fingers gripping the metal band around her finger. "Who put this ring on your finger?"

Her hand dropped to her side, causing him to let go of his hold on her, and she looked at him in incredulity. _"That's_ what you're concerned about?"

"Shit, Lily. I've thought about you every single bloody day for the past ten years and tried to bloody hard to make my way back to you. Of fucking _course_ that's what I'm concerned about. You're bloody _engaged_ to another man. And _sorry_ for thinking that once the war is over we could pick things up from where we'd left off. I— _Fuck._ "

He ran his hands haphazardly through his hair before bringing them towards his pocket, pulling out a small velvet box and nearly throwing it onto the table. He slid it towards her, his hands travelling towards his eyes as he rubbed at them blearily. She slowly, tentatively took it, eyeing him slightly, and she opened up the box, her heart soaring at the sight of the ring inside.

"This is for me," she stated simply, not able to comprehend the fact that he'd still held on to it for ten years, even if she was more than well aware of just how far his feelings for her ran, that perhaps he was the only person that could ever love her as much as she loved him. She watched water splashed onto the box, and a quick wipe at her face showed that she'd picked up on her tears once again.

"It was only ever for you, Lil." He stood up, reaching across the table to wipe at her eyes. "I should have— fuck— I should have proposed before all of this happened. If I bloody knew that someone would swoop in like that, I'd have never— shit, I don't even know."

His words registered in her mind, clicking in her head and opening her heart, and she was distinctly aware of how her heart pounded at his words.

She managed a smile, reaching over to pull the ring out of the box, fitting it perfectly onto her finger as it joined the other. "It looks beautiful, doesn't it?"

"Lily, what are you—"

"James Potter," she cut him off briskly, "Did you really think that I'd get engaged to someone other than you?"

"I— You mean to say you're not?"

She twined their hands together, bringing his fingers around her palms. "When the Order announced that you were dead, I wanted people to know that you'd be the only one I'd love, so I bought this ring to keep you as a part of me."

He stared at her, and the next thing that she knew, he'd wound around the table, nudging her chins upwards with his finger as his head came down upon her, his lips falling against hers and consequently sending an explosion of feelings that she hadn't felt in a decade, a plethora of emotions that only he could bring out in hers. She stared at him in surprise, noting just how long his eyelashes were, how they seemed to be tickling her face as he eased into her lips, and the manner in which he looked, how _calm_ he was, brought her to ease.

She couldn't think of anything except for how frantic her heart was beating at the notion, because the hiatus that her heart had taken had now ended, and the beats were growing stronger, sending thuds that vibrated throughout her body and rang in her lungs. She was in need of more air, and, seemingly, it appeared that the only way she could get this air was if she breathed his breaths in. Oxygen surged in through her body, and she needed _more. So_ much more.

He was her oxygen. He had kept her alive by living in her heart, and the mere revelation opened up a part of her that had been withdrawn for the longest time. It was enough to make her eyes fall closed, and she savoured the taste in his lips, keeping the sensation to memory because she did not ever want to take his affections for granted ever again.

She was nearly afraid that once she opened her eyes, her eyes would fall upon an empty chair, that her James had only been a figment of her imagination, because this was all too good to be true, that the optimism that she'd kept buried away beneath the soils of war and loss had resurfaced only to disappoint her once again. She threw her arms around her neck, feeling warmth, a sure sign that she _wasn't_ just dreaming, that James _had_ returned for her.

"Missed this feeling," he murmured against her lips, and her lips grew upwards, allowing one last peck from him before he pulled away momentarily. "Missed _you."_

Before she had a chance to reply, he was kissing her again, and she felt like she was eighteen again, so young and in love to the point that she couldn't think straight, as if they were picking up right where they had stopped, as if time hadn't at all been a main barrier that had separated them. She felt flowers blossoming in the cracks of her heart, so akin to those which had sprung up in the most inopportune areas on the sidewalk, decorating the ground with their beauty.

His hands had moved up to her cheeks, rubbing soothing circles onto them with his thumbs, and when they'd finally stopped, he pressed his forehead against hers, close enough that she could see a small smirk appearing on his face. "All right, Lily?"

She smiled softly at him. "I think ten years has taken a toll on your memory. It's always been 'All right, _Evans.'_ Not Lily."

He wrinkled his nose at her, leaning forward to press a small peck on her lips. "I like saying Lily. It's pretty. _You're_ pretty. Have you gotten prettier over the years? I think you have."

She smiled faintly at him. "If you think these wrinkles are enhancing my features, then yes, I suppose I have."

He shook his head. "Don't know what you're talking about. You don't look a day over 29."

"I _am_ 29, if you'd forgotten."

"A two months' age difference makes all the difference," he said, taking her hands from around his person to twine them together, "You're beautiful. Always have been."

"You've said that already."

"And I'll bloody say it again, Lily Soon-To-Be-Potter," he announced, "I've got to make up for lost time somehow, yeah? Except I reckon it should have been Lily Changed-Your-Last-Name-to-Potter-Years-Ago."

She felt her lips grow upwards. "I love you."

His response was immediate, a goofy grin forming on his face. "I love you more."

She shook her head. "That's not possible."

"No?" he asked, and she affirmed, nodding once. He reached into his pocket, pulling out a few photos and letters of some sort, laying them out on the table to show her, the sight causing her eyes to widen. They were old and worn out photos that he'd taken of her and with her when she'd bought him a Muggle camera for his birthday, as he had insisted that he fill the memory card with what made him happy. Beside the photos were written conversations that they'd had together in classes that had bored them that particular day, and she remembered the messages that almost landed them in detention from trying to not laugh aloud in an otherwise quiet setting.

"I— you still have these."

"'Course," he said, "When shit got hard for me, I pulled these out to give me reason to keep fighting. It was hell without you, Lil. After I left, I sent myself on an Order mission to distract myself from how bloody _devastated_ you looked from seeing me leave. I— fuck— I admit that it wasn't the best course of action to take, because then I ended up thinking about you instead of the task at hand and got captured by Death Eaters. They kept me alive because they thought I'd have information about the prophecy, but obviously I didn't say shit if it meant that you'd be alive. It was a bloody long ten years without you, love, but looking at this got me through each day because it reminded me of how witty and smart you are."

"How— how are you?" she asked, needing time to completely process everything that he was telling her, and he responded with a grimace, tugging his shirt over his head to reveal the ugly scars that had come about from their years apart, staining his lovely muscles with purple and red like ink spilled over a finished masterpiece. She couldn't help but let out a choked sound at the sight, each purple mark giving her a more horrified idea of just how many Unforgivables he'd endured. How many sacred parts of him had given way to torn flesh and blood? How many times had he cried out in pain, or worse, had to bite his lip to contain his sounds because he couldn't let anyone know his weakest points?

She could have been out there fighting by his side, could have been out there doing far more beneficial things to help their cause, and it was completely besides the fact that they had won now, that the Longbottom child had rid the world of one of the most dangerous man to have ever roamed the world. She would have suffered the pain that he'd gone through if it meant that he wouldn't be so hurt as he was right now, if it meant that they were making a change in the world _together._

She reached out, slowly, hesitantly, to the bruise that seemed to have brought about the most suffering towards him, one that seemed to have been multiple attempts at stitching back together his wound, and she gauged his reaction as she tentatively placed a hand on him, ready to pull away if it caused him any sort of discomfort. "I'm so sorry that you had to go through all of this."

"Don't be," he said, wincing a bit, and she placed her hand on his thigh instead, "I was the one who insisted that we be apart, remember? I mean, _shit,_ the prophecy was about a child. I— we could have used protection. Hell, we didn't even have to have _sex._ We could have just—"

"There's really no need to dwell on the past," she interrupted, her cheeks bursting in pink, "You're here now, aren't you?" She gave him a soft smile before it dropped once again. "It hurts to see you in so much pain."

"I'm fine. I'm a big boy. I've gone through worse, like teenage heartache and being second to the Giant Squid."

She wasn't at all convinced by his words, seeing right through his transparent attempts to downplay his pain, an action that was very much James Potter. "I'll be right back. Go sit in the living room couch."

"Will I see you in ten years, then?"

"I can very much assure you that I won't be gone that long," she smiled, and she headed towards the cabinet where she stored all of her potions, grabbing a few vials and returning to him quickly, staying true to her word. She situated herself between his legs in a kneeling position of some sort, and he tucked her loose strands of hair behind her ears, an action that was so simple yet one that gave off a serene feeling of comfort.

"Finding an excuse to touch me?" he teased her, and the top left corner of her lip rose.

"I think ten years away from you is enough of an excuse," she answered, and he smiled.

"Fair enough. I think that's enough to justify this." With that, he pulled the vials from her hands and placed them down onto the table, bringing her closer into his lap and securing her arms around his neck.

"James, you really should—"

"Scars are permanent. They can wait. I, on the other hand, cannot."

She felt pink spreading across her cheeks. "Is ten years nothing when it comes to waiting?"

He shook his head, running his fingers gently through her hair. "Nah, because it meant I'd come back to you. Besides, you're right here, and it's really wearing me thin to see you as beautiful as ever and we've yet to really do anything to make up for lost time."

She smiled softly at his admission. "We've kissed only a few minutes ago."

"And that only makes up for about, what, less than a percent of a decade? Come on, love. We've got the rest of our lives together."

"We do, don't we?"

His lips drew upwards as he took her hand in his, running a finger over the golden band that she'd put on earlier, a motion that needed no explanation, telling her just exactly what he was thinking, that they'd have the rest of their long lives together.

And as the cold wind blew outside, the storms within her did not, subsiding as the light in her life returned to her once again.

The coldness of October continued to linger in the air, but with him by her side, she'd be able to once again withstand the frigity of it all once again.

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